Ringing with thousands of iPhones and car horns, Hong Kong swiftly moves from a stuffy day filled with crowds of people in expensive black suits, fragrant with hot noodles and the diesel “gasp” of double-decker buses, to short twilight spreading over the ocean like a sweet mousse of exotic fruits. And from them—to the black tropical night, windy, mysterious, and as desirable as freedom itself.
You have to walk around Hong Kong. Squeeze through narrow alleys cluttered with woven baskets, trash bins, and pots with plants. Tilt your head up along the blank walls of houses reaching into the sky, from which hang tons of air conditioners and garlands of water pipes (to save space in apartments, all utilities are brought outside). Lose your direction and find it again, or maybe not find it—just choose a new, unfamiliar one.
With a map or without, in Hong Kong you are destined to get lost, and this fate is not only for guests of the city—locals wander in it just the same.
That is why they prefer to move along familiar routes, choosing the metro and surface transport. Only cats and rare characters like wizened yellow-skinned old men dried by the wind smelling of fish and seaweed do not get lost in the city. They doze on ancient carts near shops with colorful dusty windows.
There is room for everyone in Hong Kong. People from all over the world flee to Hong Kong under a thousand and one pretexts—from “honeymoon” to business negotiations, from buying designer clothes to acquiring expensive real estate.
I decided not to be clever and went to Hong Kong for impressions. I set off impromptu, without any advance preparation. Geographically, I still had an idea of where I was going—somewhere on the coast of the South China Sea. But in all other respects, I had no idea. That's exactly what I wanted—to go somewhere far, far away and know nothing at all. Tabula rasa, so to speak, a blank slate. Once in Hong Kong, I quickly realized that I had perhaps made a mistake by not even glancing at the crudest guidebook.
There were so many impressions that I seriously feared they wouldn't let me on the plane when it was time to return home. To prevent that, I decided to record the brightest impressions in my diary, so that after returning to Moscow I could turn them into a colorful story. And what had to happen: on the last day of my stay in Hong Kong, the wind tore the diary from my hands. Tore it and carried it into Victoria Harbour. For a moment I lost my temper, and when I came back, I found I felt a pleasant lightness—the diary no longer weighed on me, and I had no choice but to tell about Hong Kong from memory. If you ask me why I told exactly what I told, I will have to answer: “I don’t know. All questions to my capricious memory.”
First impression: traffic
Elevated sidewalks (footbridges) run through the entire central part of Hong Kong Island and half of mainland Kowloon. The idea behind them is simple—to rid the city of traffic jams and people of the need to cross traffic flows at traffic lights and intersections. Cars drive on the roads, and above them, people walk, smirking.
On Hong Kong Island, pedestrian bridges capture you as soon as you step off the ferry. Following the multi-faced crowd, you soon notice that you are above ground level. You find yourself in a shopping center near a snow-white, futuristic display window, or above a multi-lane highway, or above a busy street where a sea of heads floats, gathering in islands around street food stalls. You can leave the pedestrian bridge at any moment by descending “into the city” via ordinary stairs, which occur here and there, and... immediately get stuck at a traffic light with a crowd of others who have also “come down from the sky.” It makes sense to leave the bridge only if your destination is unreachable by it.
The left-hand traffic adopted in the city and the double-decker buses speeding along the streets are a British legacy. Not everyone has a private car. Firstly, petrol is very expensive here. Secondly, parking is not cheap. And thirdly, Hong Kong has such a well-developed public transport system that there is simply no need for a private car. Hong Kong is not China. The territory of the SAR can be crossed by bus in an hour and a half. So why would one need a car? A Hong Konger takes the metro to work, takes a taxi to the club, and flies by plane on vacation.
No, of course if you want to get a private car it's not a problem. In Hong Kong, they are bought either by Europeans or wealthy locals. The cars are all top-notch: Maserati, Porsche, and the latest Mercedes models. And if a Hong Konger acquires his own car, he will try to put a personalized plate on it: “La Bomba”, “J Lo”, “Son of the Bitch” – whatever suits.
Oh, and by the way, taxis. There are a great many of them, in fact it is car number one on the city streets. Red taxis run on Hong Kong Island and Kowloon, blue on Lantau, and green in the New Territories. I never understood the reason for this color division. Perhaps it is a remnant of the times when the city was divided between criminal groups into “colored” zones of influence.
Interestingly, depending on the color of the taxi, the fare will differ. The most expensive taxi is red, or “city” taxi, from 20 Hong Kong dollars (HKD) per kilometer. A ride from Central to Tsim Sha Tsui will cost 80 HKD, which is equivalent to about 320 Russian rubles. The “provincial” green and blue taxis are cheaper. It should be noted that taxi drivers observe the color division rule and very rarely drive into each other's territory. If you happen to catch a blue taxi in the center of Hong Kong, consider it good luck.
Impression Two: Victoria Peak
A trip to Victoria Peak on the peak tram offers a rare opportunity to view the city at a 45-degree incline. That is the angle, and sometimes more, at which the fragile, creaky box of worn wood, glass, and metal trim tilts. The British once climbed to the top of the mountain in it.
The best time to go to the peak is early evening. You get on the funicular when the bright colors of the tropical day begin to melt into the blue twilight. You get off the funicular at the top of the mountain when night falls quickly and inexorably on the world around... The heart beats faster when the funicular hangs over the city like a fish caught on a hook and lifted upward by a fishing rod to the surface of the water. The head of the peak tram is aimed upward, past skyscrapers and transport interchanges, to where fluffy clouds embrace the mountain top with cool tenderness, and the luxurious villas of Hong Kong's first rich are hidden among the trees.
In the gaps between the leaves, the city flickers – crowded houses and shops with gleaming windows open to busy streets, double-decker buses and lines of taxis. Passersby walk past the fence with a businesslike air, not paying attention to the funicular. Probably, they see it day after day and have long since stopped noticing. For a moment, the city disappears behind the trees – shiny leathery leaves of some ficus rustle against the window. Ahead – darkness, only a lone silver rail goes up, smoothly curving. The funicular sways and clinks. Passengers hold tight to the handrails and turn their heads.
Tonight the peak is in the clouds. I walk along the deserted observation deck, losing myself in them like the hedgehog in the Soviet cartoon lost in the fog.
The clouds are warm and at the same time piercingly damp. The tourists who came with me on the funicular have disappeared somewhere. Perhaps they are hiding indoors and don't want to go outside since nothing can be seen anyway. Hong Kong is hidden from my eyes: neither the ships in Victoria Harbour, nor the harbour itself, nor the residential areas of Kowloon Peninsula lit up with windows are visible. Even the skyscrapers, a forest of which spreads at the foot of the mountain, are barely distinguishable in the milky-white veil. The city, this amazing living organism, pulses, lives and glows down there. Here and there, some particularly intrusive advertisement faintly and indistinctly breaks through the clouds illuminated by city lights. Nikon, for example, really wants to be known even here, beyond the clouds.
The lights on Victoria Peak suddenly lose clarity: a large cloud has swept onto the observation deck, swallowing it like a snow-white fish. I cast a farewell glance at the invisible city and head for the elevators.
Impression Three: Dim Sum
Dim sum is a collective name for light Chinese snacks, which can be translated as 'heart’s touch'. Dim sum is traditionally eaten for breakfast. Sometimes for lunch as well – but at any time of day it gathers a noisy group of Hong Kongers around a round table. Eating in complete silence is at least strange, or even suspicious. Only Europeans do that – aliens from another planet. Hong Kongers cannot imagine a meal without friendly conversation. Dim sum is a great excuse to get together and gossip.
Dim sum is steamed in round woven bamboo baskets. The baskets are brought to the table in a high pyramid, and then placed one next to another, occupying the entire table space. The baskets are identical, but their contents are different. And this content is a treasure! In each basket there is a small portion of food – three or four dumplings, several fried pancakes with meat or vegetable filling, buns with sweet egg yolk, breaded oysters, shrimp.
Separately, two porcelain teapots are brought – one with green tea, the other with boiling water to rinse the bowl and chopsticks before eating. Dim sum is eaten not from wide plates, but from miniature bowls. When the teapot is empty, its lid is moved slightly to the side – a sign to the waiter that water can be added.
Of all the culinary diversity of Hong Kong, dim sum is perhaps the most refined and spiritual treat, as if you are given not a bouquet of fifteen roses, but a single flower.
Dim sum is a gift, not a way to stuff your belly. Truly, a synthesis of food and philosophy! But if someone wants a big bouquet or just a good meal, Hong Kong has plenty of other establishments.
Dim sum can be tasted in any corner of Hong Kong, and such 'corners' are usually similar to each other. The interior is dominated by the so-called 'Chinese style' – luxurious to the point of tastelessness! The lobby is richly decorated with mirrors and fake gilding, Chinese lanterns sway under the ceiling, the walls are painted with dragons, and in them (the walls) huge fish and lobsters swim in aquariums for the delight of the public. Beautiful girls sit on high stools at the entrance. They monitor the availability of free tables and distribute guests around the hall.
The floor in the 'eating' hall is covered with a thick colorful carpet, along which waiters loaded with pyramids of bamboo baskets run silently and swiftly. Long tablecloths lie on the tables, and from the ceilings, like fairy-tale flowers, chandeliers of incredible size hang. The room itself is not small, and there is an explanation for this. 'To hell with beauty and ingenious space planning,' the creators of the dim sum corner reasoned, 'People come to us to eat and socialize, so we'll have a huge hall and lots of tables!'
Waiters in dim sum establishments rarely speak English. Even to the restaurant famous throughout Hong Kong on Mong Kok, whose entrance door is adorned with a Michelin star (which, by the way, does not mean that dim sum is prepared worse everywhere else in the city), it is better to come in the company of a Hong Konger. It will be faster and tastier.
Impression Four: Star Ferry
The double-decker ferry "Star Ferry", rumbling deeply with its diesel engine, crosses the bustling Victoria Harbour, heading from Hong Kong Island to Kowloon. The crossing takes a short time – just 10-12 minutes. But the pleasure of viewing both "halves" of Hong Kong from the water is of a completely special kind. It makes you board the ferry again and again, despite the slower speed compared to the subway and the strong side wind.
The oldest network of Hong Kong passenger ferries, "Star Ferry", was launched by the British back in 1888. The amusing, somewhat clumsy, star-adorned white-and-green steamboats ply across Victoria Harbour, connecting the shores of Hong Kong Island and Kowloon. Each steamboat has its own name: "Morning Star", "Solar Star", "Celestial Star" and other stars. There are about ten of them in total.
"Star Ferry" serves four terminals: two on the island and two on the mainland. Island Central and mainland Tsim Sha Tsui are considered the main "star" terminals. The bulk of Star Ferry traffic falls on them. Both are geographical centers of their respective areas, so they are always crowded and there are many people wanting ferry services. The Tsim Sha Tsui pier is located under the old Clock Tower.
From the pier begins the promenade "Avenue of Stars", from which crowds of tourists every evening watch the light "skyscraper show". Hotels cluster around, and nearby a bus terminal snorts and belches exhaust fumes: colorful double-deckers swiftly approach stops marked with route numbers. People transfer from the ferry to the bus and are carried away into the concrete jungle of Kowloon. It is worth remembering that in Tsim Sha Tsui all roads converge at one point – the Clock Tower, that is, they lead to the ferry.
"Star Ferry" is a convenient way to get to the island if for some reason you don't want to (or can't) take the subway.
The second "Star Ferry" pier in Kowloon is Hung Hom. It is located to the east of Tsim Sha Tsui and is used mainly by residents of the eponymous district – much more residential and much less touristy. Actually, it's more accurate to say it was used: in 2011 the pier was closed for reconstruction indefinitely, and now only flocks of seagulls and fishermen in wide panama hats adorn its stone pier. Another island terminal of "Star Ferry", Wan Chai, is located to the east of Central (approximately on the same line as the Hung Hom pier). The crossing from Tsim Sha Tsui here takes twice as long.
The ferries ply the harbour until late evening – until about eleven or even half past eleven – and are considered one of the cheapest forms of public transport in Hong Kong. A crossing from Tsim Sha Tsui to Central on the upper deck on a weekday will cost an adult 2.5 HKD (10 Russian rubles). The only cheaper ride is on the double-decker tram, another true Hong Kong rarity. "Star Ferry" has two decks, upper and lower. The upper deck offers the best views – and that is why they charge an extra half dollar.
Across Victoria Harbour sail not only tourists but also romantically-inclined locals. And although there are often many people on the decks, the old ferry certainly cannot compete with high-speed subways and buses. And it does not intend to. Like the double-decker tram, the ferry is in no hurry, and moving along the route established 120 years ago, it serves only one purpose – to remind us again and again that today does not exist without yesterday.
Having finished the story and reread what I wrote, I discovered that I remember, it turns out, much more.
The white sandy beaches of Sai Kung. A trip to Ocean Park, to visit the giant pandas. The stone staircase to the Buddha statue on Lantau Island. Green mountains in the fog from the height of the Ngong Ping cable car… And then I said to myself: enough, the diary with records lies on the sea floor. And perhaps it is for the best, because you can return to Hong Kong once again to try all of the above again.